In a flash Libby was out the door, and Carson placed the bottle back on the table. He sat down on the edge of the lower bunk and let the last of the adrenaline from the bear encounter ooze out of him. As it did, the pain pill and beer seemed to take a much greater effect. It was a comfortable bunk with a real mattress on it. For the past few nights he’d been sleeping on a foam pad, a mere one inch thick. At eighteen he wouldn’t have felt a thing sleeping on the ground like that, but at thirty-nine, he felt every pebble, stick and tree root after about fifteen minutes. For the past few nights he’d slept poorly, if at all.
Damn, that bear had been big. If it had charged, could he have stopped it in time? Could he have protected Libby?
He sat back a little deeper on the bunk and lifted his bad leg onto the mattress, careful to keep his boot clear of the bedding. God, that felt good. He leaned back against the logs. The food smelled good, too. Couldn’t blame the bear for paying a visit. Every hamper that had been brought to his camp had no doubt infused the clearing with those same savory smells.
From a distance he could hear the sound of boat motors starting up. The fishermen and guides were going out for the evening hatch. They fished dawn to dusk and never seemed to tire of it. Strange behavior. Carson fished when he had a craving to eat a fish. When he caught what he was after, he killed it quickly and ate it. The concept of catching and releasing fish all day long was pretty peculiar, but it kept a lot of these sporting camps going. Kept Karen and Mike alive. He supposed that was a good thing. He heard the approach of footsteps and barely had time to push off the bunk before Libby came back into the cabin, carrying two wineglasses and a corkscrew.
“I found what I needed,” she said, holding her prizes aloft. “Pull up a seat.”
She sure liked giving orders. He sat and watched her dish up the plates of food and open the bottle of wine. She poured him a glass that was more than generous, allotted half that amount for herself, and then raised her glass to him. “To finding the plane.”
He raised his glass in his left hand. “Amen.”
The wineglasses were of good enough quality to make a fine chiming sound when touched together. “And to that goddam big grizzly bear, for not charging us,” he added.
“Amen,” she echoed, and their glasses chimed together again. Her hand, he noticed, was now as steady as a rock. “Would you have shot it?” she asked.
“Reluctantly.”
“You deliberately placed yourself between me and that bear.”
“Heroically.”
She set her wineglass down and leaned toward him. “Well, I’m very grateful. When I was seven years old, I saw a grizzly kill my best friend. We were picking berries along the Koyukyuk and the bear came out of the willows. Ever since, I’ve always been afraid of them, and I’ve always wondered why that bear killed her and not me. I was so much closer.”
No wonder she froze when she saw the bear, and had been so shaky after the encounter. Not that anyone wouldn’t have been. Grizzlies tended to have that effect on people. Carson took a swallow of wine. He was feeling better by the moment. Hardly any aches or pains. “I’m sorry your friend was killed, but I’m glad the bear didn’t kill you,” he said. “Try the wine. It’s pretty good.”
She raised her glass and took a tiny sip. “Today’s Wednesday. How much of the lake do you figure you’ve searched so far?”
“Hardly any,” he replied. No point in lying. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t find the plane after supper.”
She regarded him steadily. “What’s the longest amount of time you’ve ever spent searching for something?”
He contemplated the question for a few moments. “Twenty-two years, and I still haven’t found it.”
Those blue eyes widened. “What on earth are you looking for?”
“When I was sixteen I lost my virginity to a woman twice my age who seduced me, stole my father’s watch off my wrist, then told her boyfriend, who came in on the tail end of that episode, that I’d raped her. Her boyfriend beat the shit out of me, would’ve killed me if I hadn’t jumped out the window and gone down the fire escape, but that didn’t hurt nearly as much as losing the watch. It was all I had to remember my father by.”
Her gaze held steady. “So for twenty-two years you’ve been searching for your father’s watch?”
“Hell, no. For twenty-two years I’ve been searching for an honest woman.”
Her eyes dropped. She picked up her fork and poked at her food. “Have you ever been married?”
“Once. It didn’t last long. She wasn’t as honest as I’d hoped. You?”
She shook her head and poked some more, took another tiny sip of wine and glanced briefly at him, a half shy, half curious look. “I’ve never been very good at relationships,” she said. “I was too busy getting my education, then too busy practicing what I’d studied for.”
“Why forensic pathology?”
She smiled faintly. “Because it fascinates me. What about you? How did you get into diving?”
“I joined the service because my dad was killed in Vietnam and for some reason I thought I could avenge his death if I followed in his footsteps. I wasn’t all that bright when I was young, but I learned to dive in the Navy and stuck it out for eight years. Got a lot of good experience. Worked for a salvage operator in New York City when I got out and taught dive school on the side. When that Boeing 747 went down over the Long Island coast my old navy commander called me back to temporary duty to help recover the bodies. The silver lining in that gruesome job was making connections with another dive crew and getting hired by a big-time salvage outfit based out of Seattle. Two years later I started my own company in Spenard and here I am, mortgaged to the hilt, looking for your father’s plane and fending off a grizzly. Ain’t life strange?”
She gave him another half smile. “It’s certainly never boring. Why did you call yourself Old King Cole when you were talking to that bear?”
Had he? Oh, God. “Long story,” he replied. “Briefly, it’s my mother’s pet name for me, and I really don’t like it much.. Just promise you’ll never call me Cole…or old.”
“But you’re okay with King?” This time her smile was full and warm, with a hint of laughter. “Don’t worry, I promise I’ll never call you Old Cole.”
Carson took another swallow of wine. He was feeling better and better and Libby was looking more and more beautiful but instead of feeling threatened by the power of that beauty, he was beginning to warm to it. In fact, it was becoming more and more difficult not to push out of his chair, pull her out of hers, and kiss her. He hadn’t felt like this since before the accident. Hadn’t felt like hopping in the sack with a woman and rocking the boat until the tide went out. Carson narrowed his eyes as the warning bell rang. Wait a minute. He’d never felt quite like this before, ever. He’d never felt like this because he’d never really thought beyond the rocking of the boat. That’s why Gracie had been such a blessing. She understood what he was offering and never asked for more. There were no demands and no commitments, which had suited him right down to the ground.
But Libby was different. She was definitely no boat-rocking one-night stand.
He drained his glass of wine. The warning bells were clanging away, but the sound was becoming more and more muted, like a bell buoy receding in a thick fog. He refilled his glass and added more to hers, though she’d hardly touched the wine or the food. “So, Doctor Libby,” he said. “What’s the first thing you’re planning to do with your inheritance?”
The smile faded and she gave her head a small shake. “I’m not planning anything until you find the plane. Time’s running out, and it’s a big lake. I realize I’ve asked a lot of you, and the odds are getting worse by the moment.”
He felt that sharp kick to his ego in spite of the pain pill, the beer and the wine. She was right. Time was running out and here he was, sitting like a love-struck fool, wasting it in small talk and wishful thinking. He pushed his plate aside and stood. “Come h
ell or high water, I’ll find that plane. I told you I would, and I will.” Carson was already moving as he spoke, reaching for his rifle. He opened the cabin door and felt her hand close on his arm. Strong grip attached to a strong arm.
“Carson, please don’t go. I’m sorry I said that.”
She was so close. One step closer and she’d have him. He’d never be able to escape the intoxicating lure of her sexuality. Did she feel it, too? Was her hand charged with the same voltage that was passing into his arm, or was it a oneway circuit?
One step closer, and he’d know.
He might have taken that step himself except for the sudden earthquake. The floor beneath him trembled, the cabin shifted, and his sense of balance tipped right off the scale along with everything else. He thought it was odd that Libby seemed oblivious to the disturbance. He felt the door frame hit his shoulder and leaned against it to steady himself. Why wasn’t this cataclysm affecting her? He stared hard at Libby, who was studying him the way a doctor might study an unusual and somewhat alarming case history.
“Are you all right?” she said, frowning, her hand still gripping his arm. She took the step. The step that brought her closer. Damn. If he wasn’t holding the rifle, he’d… “Carson?”
“Don’t you feel that?” he said, amazed that she didn’t. “The cabin’s moving.”
“The cabin isn’t moving,” she said. “You’re having some kind of dizzy spell. Come back to the table and sit down.”
She was so close he could smell the sweet fragrance of her hair and skin. So close…
He shook his head. Small movement, big mistake. For some reason the room began to revolve around him. “I’m fine, just a little tired. Maybe some coffee, strong coffee, before I go back out….” He couldn’t quite focus on her face. It was as if she was slipping into the fog the same way the bell buoy had.
What bell buoy?
The grip on his arm tightened. “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere tonight. Come sit down.”
He blinked hard. The cabin had stopped moving. He waited a moment to be sure, then straightened in the doorway. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “All I need is some coffee.”
She leaned toward him and stared him right in the eye. Lord almighty, she had beautiful eyes. He wanted to kiss her, but the entire cabin was starting to behave strangely again. Logs weren’t supposed to act that way. Logs were supposed to be solid.
“You’re not fine,” she said, solemn as an undertaker. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I took one of those prescription pills the doctor at the hospital gave me,” he admitted. “It’s the first one I’ve taken and it worked pretty good. I’m feeling fine, but the rest of the world’s a little off-kilter.”
“You took a prescription pain pill and drank two glasses of wine on top of it? All on an empty stomach? No wonder you can’t even stand up.” Her expression changed from pure concern to intense disapproval and he decided she was even more beautiful when she was mad, which was a good thing because she was mad a lot of the time. Most of the time, truth be told. Libby Wilson had been nursing a big mad since the day she was born.
He certainly wasn’t about to tell her about the two beers.
“All I need is a pot of strong coffee,” he said, speaking deliberately because quite suddenly everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, including his voice. “Just some coffee, and I’ll get back out there and find that plane.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You’re not going out on the lake again tonight. The only place you’re going is to bed,” she said in that firm, patronizing doctor’s voice.
“Okay,” Carson readily agreed. Only an idiot would pass up an invitation like that.
“Can you can make it over to the bunk, or am I going to have to drag you by your heels?”
Was she really inviting him to spend the night in her cabin? Carson could hardly believe his luck. Firm mattress and a beautiful woman… Things were looking up. He set the rifle against the wall and when he straightened another tremble shook the cabin and caused him to stagger off balance. She took that one dangerous step and suddenly she was right next to him, her arm slipping around his waist to steady him. She smelled so good. He leaned into her just enough to feel her hip press against him and then he brought his arms around her and pulled her against him in full frontal contact.
She was startled but didn’t pull away. Carson took this as a good sign and would have kissed her because he sensed she was ripe and ready for kissing, but the act of moving caused that earthquake to intensify and he had to hold her close just to keep from falling over.
“Damn…!” he said, struggling for balance.
“Easy…” she responded, steadying him.
Not exactly the performance he’d intended to make. He’d intended to ignite her inner fires with his kisses. He’d intended to leave her breathless and wanting more. He’d intended to pick her up in his arms and carry her to the bunk where they would create their own earthquake, but in the end he wasn’t even sure how he made it there himself.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LIBBY MANEUVERED Carson to the bottom bunk where she half rolled, half pushed him onto the mattress. The twin-size bunk was too small for him. His shoulders spanned the mattress and his feet hung over the end by a good six inches. She pulled off his boots while he muttered something about making earthquakes. She laid a blanket over him while he mumbled that the logs were crooked and caving in around them.
“The logs are fine,” she told him. “The cabin is fine. There is no earthquake. Just lie here for a while. The effect of that pill should wear off in four to six hours.”
She gathered up the supper dishes and cast frequent glances toward him, concerned about the potent combination of painkiller and alcohol. Within a matter of minutes he was out like a light. Libby picked up his plate and stared down at the food he hadn’t touched. She shook her head. Not good. No, the morning would not be good at all, and she was to blame. She was a doctor, but she was behaving like a slave driver. The reason Carson was lying there passed out on the bunk was because she’d demanded too much too soon from a man who should be in rehab.
He moved a little, moaned, and his arm flopped over the side of the bunk. She set the plates back down on the table and crossed to the bed, where she gently folded his arm across his chest. He never stirred. She tentatively lifted his bandaged hand and laid it back down. No response. Moments later Libby was changing the dressing, and he slept right through her ministrations. Maybe taking that pill would work to his benefit. He’d get a good solid night of sleep, which he wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. He’d have gone out on the lake again and searched until midnight.
She packed up her medical kit and then paused before rising from the edge of the bunk. She wondered at the conflicting feelings that churned within her. She liked him, there was no denying that. There was also no denying that her feelings ran much deeper than mere liking. But he was dangerous. He was sexy and masculine and tough, the kind of guy who had a woman in every port. The kind of guy any self-respecting woman should avoid like the plague, yet moments ago, when he’d pulled her into his arms, she’d found herself hoping that he’d kiss her.
She was still sitting there when a tap on the door frame startled her. Karen poked her head through the open doorway. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Carson lying on the bunk and Libby sitting beside him. Libby quickly rose, crossed the small room and stepped outside. “He’s asleep,” she explained. “Passed out cold. You were right. He’s exhausted.”
Karen’s expression had changed from surprised to concerned. “Did he eat anything?”
“He was too tired, but I’m sure when he wakes up he’ll tuck into the food.”
“He has a phone call. Someone named Trig who works for him. He said it was very important that he speak with him, and that he’d hold. He’s calling from an off-shore ship.”
Libby nodded, glancing back over her shoulder into the cabin. There was no way Carson could make it
up to the lodge, and whatever the message was, good or bad, he was better off sleeping. “I’ll take the phone call and relay the message to him when he wakes up,” she said. “Thanks, Karen.”
She ran up to the main lodge and picked up the phone. “This is Libby Wilson,” she said, slightly out of breath. “Carson can’t come to the phone right now but I can take a message for him. He’s…out searching for a plane that sank in Evening Lake.”
“Yeah,” the man responded. “He told me about that job and he left the number of the lodge in case we needed to get in touch with him. Something’s come up. A problem with the diesel engine on the Pacific Explorer. That’s his salvage ship. The fuel pump’s shit the bed. Can you tell him to call Trig as soon as he can? Carson’s the only one who can bail us out of this mess, and it’s a pretty serious one. We’re dead in the water.”
“Of course I’ll tell him,” Libby said, her heart sinking.
She walked back to the cabin wondering just how serious the problem was, and realizing that it could take Carson away before the week was up. If that happened, she’d be out of luck, just when she thought she was closer than she’d ever been to proving her identity and solving the mystery of her father’s death. Libby paused on the path. She glanced down the shoreline toward Carson’s camp, pondering her options. She knew how to run Carson’s boat, but more importantly, she’d become somewhat familiar with reading the sonar screen. Maybe she wasn’t an expert, but at least she had an idea of what she was looking for. The tail section of the plane rising above the lake bottom should be easy to spot and identify. Shouldn’t it?
Karen was huffing and puffing up the path toward her on her way back to the lodge. “You look pretty discouraged. Was it bad news?”
“Something’s gone wrong with Carson’s salvage ship. Karen, is Graham guiding tonight?”
“I’m not sure, but he’s down on the dock if you want to ask him. Is there anything I can do?”
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